


As good a place to fall as any

by modal_contingency



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Pining, because Vampires, but everything is the same situationally, far too much setup for what was supposed to be a PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-07 05:36:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16402307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modal_contingency/pseuds/modal_contingency
Summary: A soldier, a hunter, and a scholar.The world is unraveling, and Trevor learns to accept a good thing when it's given.





	As good a place to fall as any

**Author's Note:**

> The modern-day AU no one asked for, offered up anyway. I wrote about 98% of this before season 2 dropped, so it's essentially entirely based on season 1.
> 
> Title from “Bedroom Hymns” by Florence and the Machine

Trevor holds up a hand to shield his eyes from the glint of the full moon, curling up his whip as he catches his breath and tries not to slip in the guts of the demon at his feet. Next to him, Sypha twirls a ball of flame in her hand, letting it shift and spread out in a glowing arc and easily engulfing the two demons snarling towards her in the flames. A piercing cry cuts through the crackling of her attack, and a third demon crawls out of the smoky darkness, darting forward. Trevor’s hand flies to his belt and Sypha throws up a hand, poised, but before they can act Alucard dashes into the demon, knocking it to the ground and driving his sword through the meat of its neck.

_A soldier, a hunter, and a scholar._

Trevor doesn’t trust them yet. Either of them.

Sypha is saccharine and sharp and wildly talented, far beyond what she knows, and that makes her a wildcard. One that could pay off big or burn out hard. Unpredictable, and that alone makes the hair stand up on the back of his neck when he watches her decimate another five demons in a single, fluid, icy attack.

And Alucard-- well, he doesn't really need to suss out his mistrust of Alucard. He is who he is, and Alucard is _what_ he is, and he can only bend so far so fast against his upbringing, no matter how handy the damned vampire is in a pinch.

Trevor can’t trust them that easily, not on the sole word of a prophecy. Implicit belonging doesn’t sit too neatly in his worldview; people are messy and promises, however pretty, are painfully limited.

They had been ambushed leaving the ruins of a small town not far outside of Greshit, driving their stolen jeep and Trevor’s motorcycle slowly down the dark roads. Trevor was nursing a twisted wrist and Sypha had a nasty burn stretching the length of her leg, and Trevor had been almost exhausted enough to dismiss the sounds of crackling branches and crunching snow as animals roaming in the night.

Stupid of him, really.

The creatures-- demons, hellspawn, whatever they were-- crawl out from the trees in a loose pack, blocking their path. A small party, but trouble nonetheless.

Trevor kicks the stand of his bike just as Alucard turns off the engine of the jeep, getting out to stand by Sypha. “Alucard, flank them. Sypha, throw up some ice, cut off their escape-- God knows I’d feel a lot better with a wall at my back.” He sees them start to move, so he pulls bullets out of a pouch inside his coat and a handful of salt from another, shaking the bullets around in it before reloading his shitty, well-worn pistol-- not as effective or reliable as his whip or one of the salted blades he carries, but good in a pinch. He had always preferred the simpler weapons in dire situations-- knives didn’t run out of ammo, after all.

He cocks the gun and flicks the safety off, holding it carefully in one hand and unfurling his whip with the other as the demons stalk closer. Four by air and three by land, a handful of small, half-formed things, and a nasty looking eighth stalking far behind the rest, crowned with sharply winding horns.

Alucard slinks off into the fray as soon as Trevor is done speaking, like he tends to do. Trevor watches as he phases into the thickest part of the group, flickering as he transforms from a dense mist into a man as he wields his longsword with a vengeance, thick blood soaking into the ground in its wake. Trevor can hear Sypha cursing behind his back, can hear the crack of ice as it breaks a demon into shards, the snap of bones, and he knows she’s settling into her rhythm now, flicking up a ring of fire around two of the flying monsters to bring them down with a flare of warm color. Trevor snaps the final flying demon out of the sky with his whip, running and lining up a shot when he’s near enough; the demon crackles up from the inside out, the explosion satisfyingly loud.

Immediate danger taken care of, Trevor’s eyes flick to his companions. Sypha is holding her own, funneling the remaining smaller demons to a neat choke point and cutting them down with pointed fragments of ice. Alucard’s got a gloved grip on the naked edge of his sword and he shoves it past resistance into the chest of the demon clawing towards him, slicing it in half messily. Blood sluices over his gloves and there’s a rush of movement in Trevor’s periphery as the final horned demon barrels towards where Alucard stands. It connects with a shriek, blindsiding Alucard entirely, and he lifts up his sword, twists his arm, and--

\--Stumbles, sword dropping loosely from his grip into the soft dirt.

Which is impossible, really, because Alucard doesn’t _stumble_ \-- not in their little getting-to-know-you fight in the catacombs under Greshit, not once in the week they’ve fought side by side. Alucard will pause, Alucard will still, and Alucard will bide his handsome time, but only as a cog in the calculation; he’ll never stumble when he can fall, gracefully, and strike from the ground. This is clearly not one of those cases.

Alucard cries out when the demon clips his side and rakes a claw across his bicep-- a hollow sound that’s forced through his clenched teeth. The demon swipes at him again, whip-fast, and Alucard falls limp with a shudder, folding half to his knees, and that, finally, snaps Trevor into action.

He drops low and curls out his whip to knock back the demon, sliding forward on the dewy grass to get closer. He pulls a knife from his boot and aims for the head as he lets it fly--he’s limited at a range, he needs to get closer--

Heat sweeps over his shoulder before he can close the distance, flame tumbling close-- too close-- past him to light up the demon in wreaths of flame. It chokes out a half screech, loud and gargled, before it lies still, wrapped around where Alucard has sunk to the ground.

“Jesus, Speaker,” Trevor curses, whipping around to glare at Sypha, who has the decency to look chagrined as she shrugs, looking past him.

On the ground, Alucard is holding perfectly still, propped up on an elbow with a hand covering his shoulder. The white of his shirt and the red of the blood on his clothes gleam in the moonlight, a stark contrast, and he looks stripped, raw. Wrong. It’s half the stumble itself and half his reaction to it-- like several layers have been pulled back to reveal something newfound, tender, and uncomfortable.

Trevor stares at him, frozen. “Are you, uh--”

“I am fine, Belmont.” His hair is half covering his face, a pale sliver of jaw, and his voice is clipped.

“Are you hurt? I have some medical knowledge--” Sypha sounds just as shocked as Trevor feels.

Alucard waves off Trevor’s hand and Sypha’s words and stands up like nothing happened, poised as he tucks his longsword back into its scabbard. He sweeps the hair out of his eyes and turns towards the thankfully intact bulk of their car. “Let’s get out of here,” he calls over his shoulder, and there’s a noticeable hitch to his steps as he moves, as much as he might try to hide it.

Trevor looks over to Sypha, the look in her eyes a mirror of his own.

Trouble.

* * *

 

“Should I rob a blood bank for you, Alucard?” Sypha asks that night after they’ve checked into one of the last operating motels the next town over, too tired to make their way to a larger city. They had picked up burgers from a lone street vendor, and Trevor was busy arranging the fries on his plate into a tower, working his way through the final bottle of whiskey from his backpack.

“And why would I need that?” Alucard says stiffly, leaning back and crossing his arms. He’s not a practiced liar, and it shows.

“Well, for one, you’re being more of a dick than usual. And there’s also the fact that I haven't seen you eat since we woke you in that cellar.”

“ _Catacomb_ , actually--”

“Plus,” Trevor interjects, gesturing with the bottle. “You’re getting sloppy, vampire. Don’t think we magically forgot about your little trip-up earlier.”

The look Alucard gives him could cut to the bone if Trevor cared to let it. “Even on my worst day I’m still ten times more useful than you, Belmont,” he drawls. “And as for your concern, I have eaten plenty.” As if to prove a point, he reaches out to snag a fry off of Trevor’s plate, knocking over the haphazard tower. He bites it, and Trevor sees the sharp edge of his teeth.

Sypha shoots Alucard a withering glare. “Don’t be an asshole.”

Alucard leans forward and uncrosses his arms, narrowing his eyes at her. Sypha cocks her head to the side and sits up straighter in her chair. The air curls thick around her when she rubs her fingertips together and Alucard’s eyes go instantaneously dark and cold, and Trevor kicks his boot into the leg of the table before it can get any further, making them both jump.

“God, Alucard, cut the shit already before she burns your hair off. Did you honestly expect to get away with this while running around with a Speaker magician and a trained monster hunter?

Alucard scoffs. “‘Trained’ is a strong word for what you are.”

“Listen, vampire--” Trevor takes another generous swig from his bottle as the edges of his vision melt pleasantly and familiarly into each other. “Sypha and I need meat and goddamn potatoes and you need blood. So what?” He swirls around the remaining liquid in the bottle, frowning-- not nearly enough. “No need to be a coy little shit.”

Alucard huffs out an exasperated breath, a crack in his normally placid facade. The chair creaks when he gets up to stalk towards the window overlooking the quiet, dimly lit parking lot. “We are in the epicenter of a rapidly spreading catastrophe. The casualties are in the untold thousands, currently, with no end in sight. People are already scrambling for medical supplies, and with no sign of outside intervention from the world past our borders, I’m not letting anyone in this room take blood from a blood bank or from a hospital when there’s a shortage for people who _actually_ need it.”

There’s silence for a beat. “That’s...very noble,” Sypha says, glancing over at Trevor.

“My mother was a doctor, and I’m not a monster,” Alucard sounds tired when he turns back to them. “I would ask that--” He shifts again where he’s standing, crossing his arms. “--I need a pint or two of blood every seven to ten days to keep my abilities sharp and at the ready. If I am injured, if I have exerted myself more than usual in a fight, I might need more than that, but that should suffice.” He grimaces. “I did not wish to ask this of you both, but--”

“I’ll do it,” Sypha says immediately, before Trevor can cut her off.

“--No, you won’t. Next time we get into a fight we can’t afford to have our best option at crowd control compromised from blood loss. I’m expendable; you’re not.”

Sypha gives him a pointed look, tucking her hair behind her ears. He recognizes the gesture from the caverns underneath Greshit, when he had rescued her from the cyclops’ onslaught and they had stumbled onto Alucard’s resting place; she was embarrassed. “Don’t write yourself off, Belmont-- you have your moments. We’ll split it.” Her tone indicates the matter is settled.

Alucard’s eyes flick between them during the exchange, and his voice is quiet when he speaks. “I’ll pick up supplies tomorrow if there’s any to be found-- syringes, insulated containers, gauze.” He stands up straighter, meets both of their eyes in turn. “I also might have a solution for our current nomadic existence. The catacombs under Greshit that you found me in: I own a small house on the property above that is relatively well-protected. My father would have difficulty tracking us there, I believe.” He pauses again and puts his hands in the pockets of his jacket, ripped and fraying in the shoulder, looking pointedly at the ground. “And thank you, for this.”

“Sure, vampire,” Trevor starts, but Alucard is already halfway out of the room, coat dragging and door clicking gently shut behind him.

* * *

 

Trevor is fucking done with this shit.

The house that sits above the twisted, extensive caverns that make up Alucard’s catacombs is made of worn brick and covered in sprawling ivy. Small, for what looks to Trevor’s eye like a country estate, but it’s well situated, set just far enough out of town for it to be ignored and just close enough to be a convenient safehouse.

The layers of magical protection that Alucard insists are woven into the perimeter are a nice bonus as well.

“Your father doesn't know about this,” Trevor asks first thing, as Sypha parks the jeep they found abandoned on the roadside behind the house. Trevor kicks his motorcycle up on the manicured grass, tearing up an ugly patch of dirt.

“I slept in the cavern underneath for nearly a year before you woke me and he never tracked me down,” Alucard says, and then pauses.

“I can just hear the ‘but’ coming--”

“He doesn’t know outright, but he might suspect. I’ve always liked my space, and I’ve always had, well-- secrets.”

“What a surprise.” Trevor digs his hip flask out of the inside of his bomber jacket. He’d picked up some truly nasty rye from the town before they had left, and he has a feeling he’s going to need it before the day is up. “I did happen fall into your truly _breathtaking_ web of cavernous paranoia on my way to wake you from your beauty nap, so I’m more than familiar with your particular brand of _secret_.”

Alucard glares at him. “I meant that he knows I have a considerable amount of money tucked away, have a history of disappearing for weeks on end, and have significant gaps in my monetary paper trail. It wouldn’t be hard for him to piece together that I’ve purchased property, but I doubt he could figure out where, exactly.”

“Hm.” Trevor shrugs. “Hard to imagine you tripping up on something this big.”

Alucard sniffs. “I was young. It happens.”

“Why are you standing around?” Sypha jogs out from the side of the house. “I want to see inside!”

Secluded, chock full of wards, a few hours drive to most of the major metropolises, fully stocked pantry-- the estate is infuriatingly perfect for their needs while they bide time waiting for Dracula’s castle to pop up and spill demons up and down the countryside for them to kill.

The last reliable line of defense for the people of Wallachia, just like Trevor’s parents had trained him for, all those years ago. Provided he and his unlikely companions got the information in time. Provided they didn’t encounter the rapidly expanding might of the church’s forces, or the government militia patrols who shot first and badly and skipped asking questions entirely. Or the religious fanatics, or the apocalypse opportunists, or--

So many factions with so many whirling considerations. They’d been lucky so far.

Two weeks pass before Trevor can really catch his breath, a whirlwind of police scanners and social media pings and driving and trying not to look too closely at the darkened, blood-drenched tableaus that formed a backdrop to the sound of Trevor’s whip slicing through the air.

They’d taken to passing out on the nearest closest surface after tumbling to Alucard’s house after an encounter, stumbling from city to city chasing after Alucard’s parentage and Sypha’s lost prophecy and the Belmont family’s fucking side gig. Everyone’s past had a way of haunting them, but in all of their cases, that haunting had a name and a face and a rabid demon army attached.

Trevor twists the cap onto the insulated metal bottle of blood, easing the needle out of his arm throwing the whole mess into the sink. He washes the dot of blood off with a wet towel. Small marks litter his arm, stinging reminders, and they ache like a bruise gone sour and god, he wishes he were high enough to warrant them. He’d never done shit like this before the sky cracked open and spilled his family history all over the world at large, ruining his sordid alcoholic parade and making him actually give a shit.

He sighs, loudly, because he can and because it feels good, and he tries to bite back the surge of annoyance that bubbles up as he traipses into the living room. Alucard is sprawled on a couch, looking like nothing else but an indolent lord in a period piece, with the exception of the phone in his hand and the laptop open on the table beside him. He’s scanning the news for Dracula’s whereabouts, Trevor knows, because that’s the only thing they all do on their phones nowadays. _Ping!_ Another image of a dark floating castle above a roiling sea. _Ping!_ A periscope of a demon clawing its way across the roof of a suburban home. _Ping!_ Bats in the goddamn belfry.

Trevor considers, aims, and tosses the bottle at Alucard's chest, where it hits with a satisfying thunk before rolling downwards. Alucard doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t look up, just sighs and picks up the bottle with his long pale hand and places it on the ottoman next to him.

Trevor crosses his arms, the ache in his arm and the lingering lightheadedness buzzing distractingly under his skin.

After a long moment of Trevor glaring down at him, Alucard looks up.”Yes?”

Trevor rolls his eyes. “‘Thank you for the blood, Belmont.’ ‘Of course, Mr. Tepes.’ Or maybe-- ‘thanks for donating to my own personal blood drive, Trevor.’ ‘Oh, anytime, Alucard.’ _Manners_ , vampire, or were you never taught?

“Ah. Thank you for the blood, Belmont.” Alucard’s tone is perfunctory, and his gaze drifts back down to his phone screen.

Trevor tries to tamp down the surge of irritation he can feel trickling through his body. “Drink the fuck up while it's hot, vampire.”

Alucard shoots him an icy look as he pointedly rests his phone on his chest and twists open the cap of the bottle. He can’t hide his small inhale as the coppery smell spreads through the room, the sharp, breathy sound he makes. Trevor can see his eyes narrow. He tips the bottle slightly forward, rolls his wrist back to examine it. Trevor can basically hear the gears grinding in his pale skull.

“Do you need an express invitation? Or a fucking aperitif, you weirdo?” Trevor sighs loudly and rubs at his arm. “I’m gonna go track down an ice pack and a cookie, thanks.”

Alucard looks up at him suddenly, fixing a stare on Trevor. Measured, like all of Alucard’s movements. Trevor can’t decide whether its a conscious choice or he’s just that fucking lazy. “Does it hurt, Belmont? Are you experiencing much fatigue?”

“Considering I’m jabbing a fucking straw up my arm every couple of days, I would settle on a firm _yes_ , Alucard.”

“I apologize-- I did assume you were used to it.”

There’s a pause as Trevor tries to work his voice past the sudden surge of white-hot anger, and he whistles sharply, lowly. “Yeah, needle-centric drugs were never my vice, thanks a lot.”

Alucard flushes, and that alone is enough to curb a bit of Trevor’s temper. Trevor didn’t know he could flush at all; it’s a good look on him. Alucard clears his throat, clearly embarrassed. “You should have said something sooner. About the pain. Give me your hand, please.”

Trevor does before he can stop himself, a reflex from the weeks spent working and fighting and traveling together. He quickly stifles the need to examine the gesture more than that, hackles still up, and he settles somewhere near defensive. “Sure,” he replies, deadpan. “Heal me up with your tender vampire touch.”

“Something like that.” Alucard’s eyes narrow again as he sits up and takes Trevor’s hand by the fingers, tugging him until he’s standing between Alucard’s spread thighs, letting his touch fall to Trevor’s wrist. Perfunctory, if not for the weirdness of the position. Of their closeness.

From where Trevor’s standing, Alucard’s skin is a smooth alabaster, cooler-toned than warm; a statue come to life. Trevor is reminded, unfairly, of his family’s trophy room, neatly lined with the skeletons and skins of countless monsters.

Alucard tugs Trevor’s sleeve up in one smooth movement, jarring Trevor back to the present, and before he can react the vampire presses his mouth against the crook of Trevor’s arm-- not biting, not sucking, but pressing his tongue hard against the needle marks.

“Jesus fuckery,” Trevor gasps.

He feels the roughness of Alucard’s tongue as he lets his mouth linger, fingers pressing into the soft skin by his wrist. His eyes flick up to Trevor, who feels his pulse stutter as warmth suffuses through his body, melting through him like a drop of water added to whiskey. Shifting the subtle to the surface, opening up a whole new flavor.

Alucard pulls away just as suddenly as he had started, and Trevor can only stand there, caught in his grasp. His arm tingles.

“Better?”

It is better, Trevor realizes, watching as the marks fade a little into his skin, the dull aches ease away. All told, it’s not unpleasant.

Alucard is watching him intently, head cocked to the side. Expectant. Trevor feels heat spread across his face. Shit. He yanks his hand out of Alucard’s, who lets him go easily.

“You could’ve been doing that--” he grits out, “--this whole goddamn time? You asshole. Jesus. I’m washing my fucking arm, now.” And he storms out of the room before his legs can carry through on their threat to buckle beneath him, heading to the bathroom down the hall.

He turns on the tap and lets it run. Watches it drain down the sink, over the needle he had left there, and feels the tension in his muscles holding him still, porcelain cold on his palms.

He runs his fingers across the juncture of his arm, tingling faintly-- even more when he applies pressure.

It’s still wet from Alucard’s mouth, from his _tongue_ , and Trevor flicks the faucet off and turns to lean back heavily on the edge of the counter. One breath, two, three. He turns back and splashes cold water on his face, feeling the saliva dry on his arm.

Fuck.

* * *

 

It becomes a distraction.

Trevor tracks Alucard’s movement in a fight, at rest, in motion. It isn’t unusual for him-- he notes Sypha’s too, because their tactics are both wildly fascinating in dramatically different ways. She’s libel to multitask in the middle of a fight, flitting from massive attacks to crowd control to civilian assistance in a smooth motion or two. Alucard picks an entry point into the fray and flows through it like water, less tactical and more instinctive, utilizing his infuriatingly diverse toolkit of powers to the best advantage.

In the lulls between fights-- travel, rest, information gathering under the stars and in Alucard’s house and beneath smoldering city ruins-- there’s a neat geometry to the way they move around each other, a practiced comfort. Trevor tries to work out all the angles in his head, the tactical training of his youth continuing to manifest in perplexing ways.

It becomes easy between the three of them before he catches on, and stays steady enough for him to relax into. Just a little bit. Dangerously.

“Have you slept with him yet?” Sypha asks him one morning when it's just the two of them sitting on the grass behind Alucard’s house, the vampire recuperating in his room in the estate with a bottle of blood and a cold compress after the previous day’s battle. Their days and nights are jumbled together now-- night means demon attacks and the slow and steady advance of the horde, so days mean rest and planning. In reality, the switch just means they’re all tired, all of the time, snagging naps and food when they can.

Trevor glares over at Sypha. They have a beer each, and Sypha reaches out to tap the side of his, frost spreading across the surface. She smiles brightly at him, and he begrudgingly tips the bottle towards her in salute.

“Well?” She repeats.

“It’s not about sex, Sypha,” he sighs. “Just trying to keep our best fucking asset alive to fight another day.”

Sypha looks at him up and down appraisingly, and he bites out, “I _swear_ , Sypha.”

She wrinkles her nose and smirks. “It is a bit though, isn’t it? I mean, you should see your _face_ when--”

“Listen, Speaker, just because it is for you doesn’t mean the sentiment is universal--”

“Oh, it’s strictly platonic for me,” she says easily, and shoots him a sly grin with too many teeth. “I make him spit into a napkin because I’m civilized and he’s a gentleman. And most importantly--” A few more teeth in that knowing grin. “--The fact that he drinks my blood doesn’t make me want to fuck him.”

Trevor groans loudly and lets himself tip backward to lie on the ground, resting the beer on his chest, one arm thrown over his face. “There are more important things going on than me getting laid. Dracula, demons, maybe you’ve heard?”

Sypha hums, and there’s a quiet rustle as she lies down beside him, looking up at the clear blue of the sky. “You know,” she says softly. “Just because the world is falling apart doesn’t mean you can’t have something nice for yourself, once and a while.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response, because she’s right. Intellectually. Logically. Trevor shuts his eyes tightly, blocking out the light. She’s right, but he doesn’t deserve for her to be.

Sypha pats his shoulder consolingly after a few beats. “I understand, Belmont, just-- sort this out. For the sake of the team, if nothing else.”

Trevor scoffs and pushes at her leg. “For the sake of your sanity, you mean.”

She leans up on an arm to take a sip of her beer, looking down at him over the edge of the bottle. “Naturally.”

* * *

 

Past first impressions, Alucard is very bad at pretending to be human.

It becomes quickly clear to Trevor that he’s meticulously trained himself to blend in with humans, both for self-preservation and, Trevor suspects, for socialization purposes. Alucard likes people, likes _talking_ , which is a surprise in and of itself-- he chats happily about classic literature and science with Sypha, the finer points of fencing vs. swordplay and terrible blockbusters with Trevor. Once he unbends himself after the first few awkward weeks, Trevor finds himself forgetting for long stretches that Alucard could snap him in half if he was particularly inclined.

Forgets, for even longer stretches, that he’s supposed to dislike Alucard.

Alucard’s human smokescreen works seamlessly up until he relaxes too much, strays too close to a delicate line that Trevor’s not sure he’s even aware of, slipping and slipping and peeling back carefully wrapped layers until the whole game is given up by the way his eyes catch in the light, the way he moves in a space. The way his voice can layer up, getting a lilt and an edge. Eerie.

Trevor takes notes on Alucard almost immediately upon their first meeting, because it’s reflex, because his family might be dead and burned but that doesn’t mean he can be so easily cut from the strings they bound him in. He sketches out the strong cut of Alucard’s jaw, notes the inhuman stillness ever-coiled in his limbs, the violence held taut before he stalks forward towards his prey. The way his eyes light up when he takes a sip of their blood to recover after a fight. He’s never obscene about it, always neat, but there’s only so much he can modulate his expression, especially to a keen observer. Narrowed eyes, flared nostrils.

Trevor takes notes on it all, and then stops taking notes on anything because he doesn’t have to. There’s a weight to every movement Alucard makes, deliberate, and Trevor watches it all in a trance; he wants that focus honed onto him, wants to know what it feels like to be the center of Alucard’s undivided attention. Wants to be worth hunting down like that.

He spends his increasingly small amount of free time obsessively reading up on the lesser known traits of vampires and dhampir, but there isn’t much that rates as news. Alucard inherited a select grab bag of powers from his father balanced out with some of the human advantages of his mother-- he’d given Trevor and Sypha a list, in fact, when they formed their little anti-demon-apocalypse squad, explaining that it was advantageous for all of them to know each other’s strengths going in.

Enhanced durability and reflexes. Heightened senses. Flight. Limited teleportation. Shapeshifting. Able to tolerate exposure to sunlight. Lessened need for human blood.

No hypnotism, no weird seduction powers, nothing about the coercion of humans. Trevor checks and cross-checks his family’s literature, the internet, Sypha, for contradictions, finding nothing.

Nothing. Just Alucard’s word that he isn’t flicking a switch in Trevor’s head when the fresh blood hits his lips. And Alucard could be withdrawn and stuffy and an outright dick, but Trevor found he was honest to a fault once he got going on the truth.

Trevor is a lot less concerned about the whole affair than his upbringing wants him to be.

He wants to fuck the ethereal vampire with the dry sense of humor and the canines like knife points and long hair like a wheat field, and it’s no one’s fault but his own.

Typical.

* * *

 “Damn it, Trevor, you could ride with us for _once--”_ Sypha shouts from the jeep, wind whipping the hair around her face as she swerves around a chunk of building “--At least _slow down_ , you idiot!”

“What’s the matter, magic squad-- can’t keep up?” Trevor whoops, gunning his motorcycle forward to weave down the road. He’s driving far too fast for the rocky and ruined road, but he can hear the blood pumping hot in his ears, body thrumming, _alive--_ and yeah, the wind in his hair feels good, feels _really good_ , despite the circumstances.

They’re edging up on what’s left of Targoviste, making their usual rounds cleaning up known pockets of demons while biding their time for a solid lead on the next location of Dracula’s castle. The whole situation has the feeling of treating the symptoms rather than the disease, but it’s a hell of a lot better than sitting around Alucard’s kitchen table waiting for a phone to ping an alert. None of them did well with too much sitting around, anymore.

The city had been evacuated weeks ago, once it was determined that the rifts that opened up every few nights or so to unleash a horde across the city would never truly close up. Targoviste was where it all started a year before, an open wound of a city rubbed raw from the beginning by fear and anger and so much blood-- now, the outside was unraveling to finally match the inside.

They reach the outskirts of the city with little incident, just a few small flying demons that stray close to them, cautiously investigating. Trevor picks them off easily with his whip.

Alucard stands up in the car, surveying the area as Sypha and Trevor turn carefully through the rubble. Smoke trails off every structure in the area and the air is hot and close.

“It’s quiet,” Sypha calls.

The block they are on looks wrecked, bloody, but-- empty. And Sypha is right; it is quiet except for the crackle of the ever-present flame and the sounds of their tires crunching the broken asphalt.

And then, predictably, everything goes to shit.

The jeep’s tires screech as Sypha hits the brakes, jerking Alucard forward as a large flock of hulking, flying demons emerge from over the top of a building. One lands heavily on the back of the car and another slams into the hood, the jeep bucking under their weight.

“Of fuckin’ course--” Trevor grits out, skidding his bike sideways into a hard stop and vaulting off the back, unfurling the whip from his side as he runs into range and snapping it at the creature lunging for Alucard’s head. The whip curls around its neck, and Trevor flicks his wrist to yank it down to the ground with a meaty crunch. Sypha’s fingers fly and the other lights up in a ball of flame before writhing and sloughing off the hood. Alucard is already on the ground, sword in hand, and Sypha leaps off the jeep after him; they’re looking at Trevor, and he feels a prickle of pride from somewhere deep down. “Group them together and pick them off,” he shouts. “Use the buildings as cover!”

Alucard salutes Trevor with a sweep of his sword before phasing into the smoke. Trevor catches Sypha rolling her eyes-- she hated dramatics-- before waving to him and sending a spike of ice through a demon’s skull in a clean sweep of motion.

There’s a loud bellow from behind him, and Trevor whips around to see another, smaller pack of demons appear from the cluster of buildings behind them, eyes glowing blue in the haze.

He can’t help himself; he smirks, blood pumping, and shouts “Alright! Come and get me, you ugly bastards!” He lets the tail of his whip slide to the ground, pulling the gun from his belt, and he fires all six shots into the lead demon as it surges towards him. It sinks to the ground, dead and bubbling from the salt, and then it’s on.

Trevor drops the empty gun and lets his whip curl around him and catch on the palm of his hand before snapping it back to cut across the stomach of the demon in front of him. There’s a hiss of steam, a horrifying cut-off shriek as half the demon sloughs off in the wake of the slice, bubbling and melting into the asphalt of the street. Another demon jerks around at the sound, eyes blazing blue and teeth wet with gore as it advances on Trevor; he hikes up a throwing knife between his fingers and flings it neatly into a bulging eye, snapping at its exposed chest as it rears back in pain. The final one advances on him hesitantly, like it’s waiting for an opening, and Trevor rushes forward and executes a quick dodge and half flip before it can make up its mind, lashing out with his salted short sword and ramming it under the chin with the spiked pommel of his whip, lunging out of the way as it wells up orange and red, bursting like an overripe fruit.

Trevor pants into the smoke and his eyes flick around and he must look wild, bleeding and covered in dust and holding a whip and a reaching for his last slim knife in the middle of the apocalypse. It’s all still, though, the sounds of Sypha and Alucard’s fights far away in the distance. No apparent threats. So he moves on, winding slowly through half-collapsed houses and around torn up areas of asphalt.

Passing through a particularly devastated row of townhouses, Trevor ducks inside one, coughing through the smoke, hand stinging, throat burning. He fucked up his knee somewhere in the middle of it all, an old injury flaring up, and every time he puts pressure on it he can feel it start to slide dangerously out of line, the pain edging around nauseating.

A distant scream cuts through the din and Trevor reacts before he can really think, tripping forward in a sprint and gasping as his vision goes momentarily white as his knee gives out completely.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” he spits when he can see again. His hand curls into a fist against the pain, rucking up dirt under his nails before they press hard into his palm, and he pants into the ground, tries to center himself, tries to-- well. Fuck. Tries to do anything at all.

It can’t be more than a few moments before the hair on the back of his neck stands up. There’s a distinctive crack above him, a crumble and creak of wood and iron and plaster being shifted by...something, and a very familiar feeling trickles through Trevor.

Caught-- held in steel teeth and waiting for the axe to fall.

“Just my luck,” Trevor breathes, and a large chunk of plaster and building off the ceiling right above him drops out onto his leg, whiting out his vision in pulses of pain. He gasps and lets out a half-sob, hearing a crunch through the sound of the collapse but not the telltale snap of shattered bone. Small mercies.

He coughs dryly in the setting dust, every breath coating his mouth in silt, taking stock. The knife had been knocked from his hand, the whip as well, and he had dropped the empty gun back in the street. Salt. He digs a handful out of his pocket, grimacing, and feels around the rubble for his whip. His hand fits around the grip like slipping on a glove, and he tugs for it in desperation. It pulls taut, stops--trapped like him under piles of the building.

“You’re too slippery, human.” A voice full of gravel rakes over Trevor. Hidden beneath the rubble and the smoke and plaster dust. Electric blue points flicker into existence and a sharp and persistent hum floods the room. Distinctly unearthly. The demon claws its way over the fallen ruin of the ceiling and into view. It’s covered in spikes and sinewy scales that melt into patchy fur, a crown of red dripping horns and glowing teeth set into its head; _a higher tier demon_ , Trevor’s brain supplies uselessly, pain throbbing hot and thick through his leg. A fat lot of help that knowledge is right now.

The demon pauses once it’s fully into view, tilts its head to consider Trevor’s position. Its mouth clicks open, and Trevor’s hand itches for his whip, a knife, anything.

“Slippery, human, but predictable.” It opens its mouth, and the scream from before rings out, pitch perfect. Trevor groans-- stupid, stupid, _stupid_. “Haven’t you heard, human? Nobility is for the weak and the dead, and you fell so nicely into my snare.”

The demon pads forward carefully like it has all the time in the world, and Trevor supposes it does. Sypha and Alucard are off in the middle of their own fight; he knows that if they didn’t hear the ceiling collapse, they can’t know that he’s there, can’t know that he’s trapped and a meter away from a horn-ringed death. Trapped, and alone.

Trevor hurls the handful of salt in the creature’s face as it stops before him, and there’s a high hiss like an overboiled kettle as it burns through the skin, a hitching shriek as the demon shakes its head and writhes in front of Trevor’s prone position. Not nearly enough salt to kill it.

The creature shakes off the salt and growls, lifting a single claw towards Trevor and digging the tip into his chest. It leans forward as its mouth parts, the stench of burned rubber and hot gore clogging the air, and Trevor suddenly can’t breathe, breath snatched from his lungs, blood rushing hot in his ears as the demon leans near, and it’s a fucking shame that this is how he’s going to go out, so damn far from his goal-- he’s trapped and half blind and choking on hellfire and so, so _alone_.

The fanged jaw cracks and pops as it hinges open--a yawning, unnatural void-- and there’s a pause like the whole world is gasping to inhale right along with Trevor until--

There’s a whoosh and a high snap as Alucard materializes, a hulking grey wolf instead of a man, slamming the demon bodily into the dirt with his teeth sunk deep into its throat. The demon gurgles wetly around the syrupy blood pouring out of its maw, and Alucard tugs hard with his teeth, paws scratching rivulets deep into the chest of the demon. The demon screeches, Alucard rumbles out a growl, and Trevor remembers how to draw breath, frenetic and stuttered. Alucard’s wolf flickers and shifts until Alucard the man is there instead, gloves and face soaked in blackened blood and gripping the demon’s jaw in his hands. He twists quickly, viciously, and with a sickening snap, it’s over, it’s over, and Alucard is moving towards where Trevor lies trapped.

“Are you okay?” Alucard is panting as he brushes the tangled hair out of his face.

Laughter bubbles out of Trevor, unbidden. “You need a hair tie. And a, uh--” he twirls his hand around in the air as Alucard kneels down by his side, shifting the rubble off of his trapped leg like it weighs nothing. “--And a fuckin’ towel, man.”

And he laughs and he laughs until he chokes on it, smoke getting into his lungs and pain finally awakening again, fresh and bright along his leg.

“Noted,” Alucard says, producing a cloth from inside his coat and wiping down the worst of the gore on his hands and face. He looks around and snaps off a long, thin piece of wood from the wreckage and measures it against Trevor’s freed leg. “Knife?”

“Yeah, I wish.” Trevor’s voice sounds horrid and feels worse, and he spits grit on the ground and waves a shaky hand towards the doorway of the house. “They’re all still buried in demon corpses, I’d reckon. Unless the demons have learned to grip things smaller than horses in their massive fucking claws. Apparently, they can imitate human speech now, did you know that? Fuckin’ fascinating little anthropology expedition we’re on--”

Alucard snaps his fingers loudly, right in front of Trevor’s face. “Breathe, Trevor.” The deluge of words die in Trevor’s throat, and his eyes go wide as they meet Alucard’s. “Never mind all that now,” Alucard says quietly, and shrugs off his coat only to look it over carefully before ripping a long strip off the least blood-soaked edge. “You’re injured, and I have bind your leg. Focus on that.” A small pile of scraps forms and Alucard lines up Trevor’s leg and the wood, beginning to lace up his leg.  

Trevor wipes out his mouth with the inside of his collar and spits again. Better. He smiles weakly as Alucard makes a careful knot. “Sure you know what you’re doing, vampire?”

Alucard huffs out a sigh and tugs a strip of the splint tighter. Trevor winces. “You always manage to forget my mother was a doctor. I’ve splinted my fair share of bones traveling with her for her work.”

Right--the famous humanitarian doctor. Traveling to war zones and natural disasters and crises. Trevor had read about it.

Alucard checks his splinting over methodically, running a hand over to check the ties until his hand rest on Trevor’s good knee. “Good enough, considering the circumstances.”

Trevor looks up, and Alucard is giving him an odd look. He realizes that Alucard is now firmly in his space, breathing the same air, gold eyes honed in on him; looking him over. Something akin to panic pricks under Trevor’s skin, hot and tense, and Alucard’s voice is quiet. “Take better care of yourself, Trevor. Don’t go running off. Please.”

“So kind to your next meal.” The words tumble from Trevor’s mouth before he can bite them back, and he can’t parse why he says it. The hot sensation twists its way through his chest to settle there, leaving it too tight.

“No,” Alucard says, a look of confusion flashing across his face, so fast Trevor might have dreamed it up, buzzed on adrenaline and pain. “That’s not it at all.”

“Belmont!” Sypha’s voice rings out through the din as she appears around the edge of the building; she looks uninjured, and a part of Trevor that he didn’t realize he was holding tense relaxes at the sight of her.

“I’m fine, Speaker,” he shouts over. “Just a little fall.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she retorts, jogging over to them.

“It’s been splinted, but he should see a doctor just in case.” It might have been the pain coursing through Trevor’s body, but Alucard’s voice sounded muddled, like he was speaking from far away.

“The Speakers in this area have a doctor who knows some healing spells,” Sypha says, reaching them and fumbling through her pockets. “I’ll text them.”

“I’ll check the perimeter,” Alucard says, standing up. He turns away without a second glance at them, picking his way through the rubble with a hand on his sword. Methodical, as always.

Trevor stares and stares until Sypha touches lightly at his shoulder. He looks at her, adrift.

“I told you,” she says lightly, even as her eyes betray her concern and she moves to occupy Alucard’s abandoned place. “You’ve got it bad, Belmont. Now, let’s get you to a doctor.” She gets her shoulder under his arm to heft him up, and hours later, when the Speaker doctor lays her hands on him and he feels his bones snapping back into place, he shuts his eyes and thinks of Alucard’s expression.

* * *

 

The days and nights blur together until one sticks out-- a rough one. Sypha is nearly overcome by an ambush and Alucard gets lost in the shuffle in his wolf form, fur and teeth and claws writhing in the middle of the sea of demons, and for a few hushed, panicked seconds, Trevor’s head spins sickeningly as he freezes up, joints locked, caught watching his whole carefully built world buckling under him until he’s alone, alone, _alone_. And then he drags himself out of it-- forcibly, clawing-- and does his job to save them.

Just another night.

Trevor is blinking back sleep by the end of it, biting his bottom lip in hopes that the sharp pain will keep his motorcycle in line with the jeep ahead of him; bumpy back roads and the harsh cries of demons and the ache of his muscles blend and sink into his skin.

They stumble into the kitchen of Alucard’s estate and Trevor collapses into a chair immediately, Sypha right behind him. Alucard flicks the light on and the room is thrown into stark fluorescence. Trevor blinks and squints at the wall, running a dirty hand through his hair.

“Alucard?” Sypha sounds alarmed, and Trevor jerks around to look up at where Alucard is standing. His skin is so pale it's practically translucent, and the scratches he had gotten are glistening, still wet with blood. Healing more slowly than they should be, for someone with Alucard’s healing abilities. He could shake off most injuries in a matter of hours, and it had been at least four since the fight.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Alucard says distantly, blinking slowly at them. “I think I need to lie down.”

“I think you need blood,” Sypha says, and it hits Trevor that Alucard hasn’t asked either of them for any since Trevor’s incident with the floorboards and the demon a few long days ago.

Fuck. _Fuck_. Every detail of Alucard stands out in stark relief, and a sick wave of guilt floods through Trevor. His nails dig into his knees.

“...Yes,” Alucard breathes, and rubs a hand over his face. “It’s the last thing I want, but...I need it, I think.”

“Then we’ll make sure you get it; go upstairs and I’ll bring some up as soon as I can,” Sypha says with finality, and that’s all it takes for Alucard to drift off towards the staircase, slipping off his coat and letting it drop onto the railing.

“Sypha…” Trevor’s heart is beating fast. “Please let me do it.” He hopes Sypha will go along with it without complaint; won’t make him explain.

She looks at him, head cocked, for a long minute. Like she’s slowly dismantling him, and it should feel invasive, should make him throw up his guard, but in that moment it just feels honest. “Okay, Trevor-- I’ll keep first watch. I’m too wound up to sleep just yet.”

“Yeah,” Trevor says, and her silent nod spreads heat through him, a rush of affection for her steady calm. For all of her.

She smiles at him, and even though it looks tired, it’s warm. “Go do what you need to, Trevor,” she says, and Trevor falls to it.

He showers quickly, perfunctory, and draws enough blood to fill one of their customary insulated water bottles; his hand slips a bit when he takes the needle out, and he wonders selfishly if Alucard is too annoyed to ease his discomfort like usual. With his hand on Trevor’s wrist, with his mouth on the skin, with his rough tongue pressing hard.

Trevor’s knock on Alucard’s door seems loud in the silence of the house.

“Come in.” And Trevor does, before he can change his mind.

Alucard is wearing a hooded sweater that probably cost more than Trevor’s shitty motorcycle, soft grey cashmere that looks like its dripping off his pale skin. He must have taken a quick shower because the room is humid and his long hair is damp. He’s pulled the heavy curtains across the daylight peeking through the windows, and the room is lit up in the glow of the lamps on the end tables and the laptop open on the bedspread.

Silence. Alucard waves a hand at the laptop. “I doubt there’ll be another attack so close to the last, and in the daylight, but--” The warmth of the lamp makes the shadows on his face stand out starkly. “--I sleep better after checking.”

“Yeah, I do too. Here.” Trevor holds out the bottle.

Alucard takes it carefully, wraps both his long hands around the faint warmth of it, and Trevor watches his eyes flicker closed once, fleetingly, before settling intently on Trevor. “Your arm, should I…?”

“Sure,” Trevor says, like it's not a big deal, like the gesture doesn’t send slow heat shooting through him, like he hasn’t been thinking about it since he stuck the needle in his arm. “Drink first though; you look like you’re gonna pass out. And uh, I don’t-- I wouldn’t want that.” It’s barely an apology, but Alucard inclines his head towards Trevor regardless, less like its okay and more like he understands. Gets it, and is willing to look beyond it. The tension melts a bit, air shifting around the room, making it easier for Trevor to relax his shoulders.

Alucard’s eyes heat up gold as he opens the bottle and lifts it to his lips. Trevor turns away to give him some privacy, rolling up his sleeve carefully until he hears the clink of Alucard setting the bottle down. “Thank you, Belmont.”

Trevor turns around and Alucard is holding out a hand to him, expression held in its usual careful neutrality. Trevor meets his eyes, nodding, and the silence is oppressive when Alucard takes Trevor’s wrist and leans down, breath stirring against Trevor’s flushed skin. The cool lips feel as good as always, soothing away the ache, and Trevor knows that Alucard can feel his pulse pick up in the space of a few beats, uncontrollable and hot through his veins, so close. Alucard’s tongue laps at his pulse, and Trevor imagines it's his teeth instead, taking what he needs from Trevor, letting him atone, honing his focus on Trevor and Trevor alone, and Trevor gasps as Alucard’s tongue swipes just so over a sensitive pinprick, hand flying out to catch Alucard’s shoulder like it’s the last solid thing on the planet.

Blood beats in his ears, and it’s vicious, and Trevor wants to drown in it.

“Fuck it,” he rasps out, fisting his hand in Alucard’s hair before he can talk himself out of it, pulling him away and up till their eyes meet.

Alucard just looks at him, eyes all gold and half-lidded and hazy, mouth glossy and red around the edges from Trevor’s blood and his own saliva, and Trevor slides his hand up the back of his head to get a better grip, pulling firmly until Alucard’s forced to look down his nose at him, head tilted back, neck exposed. Alucard makes a small noise in the back of his throat but doesn’t fight it. Lets Trevor move him how he wants to.

“Do you have a request, Belmont?” Alucard would come off a lot more intimidating if he could work past the bit of breathiness lingering in his voice.

Trevor inhales shakily and lets go of Alucard all at once. “Look. If I let you, uh--” He runs a hand over his neck, tilting it to the side. “--Let you bite me, you won’t like--”

“--Change you into a vampire? Leave you a husk?” Alucard’s eyes sharpen a bit, but his posture softens. “Of course not.”

“Ok. Good. Great. What a comfort.” Trevor winces and closes his eyes. “I mean, it is a comfort, don’t get me wrong.”

"I could bring you your whip if it would help."

Trevor feels his pulse going fast underneath his skin, and he shakes his head before opening his eyes to smirk up at Alucard, far more confidently than he feels. “Don’t need my whip to take you down.”

Alucard continues to stare at him, standing very, very still. “Are you certain about this, Belmont? I don’t want this unless you do as well.”

“Yeah, go ahead-- anything to cut a few steps off this whole process.” Trevor’s heart is beating so fast and loud again that Alucard can probably hear it through the distance between them.

The edge of Alucard’s mouth curls upward. “You’re flustered, Belmont.”

“And you’re dragging this out, Tepes, so shut up and get fucking to it.”

Alucard fixes him with a hard stare as he reaches out, trailing light fingers down Trevor’s throat, and it tickles, and Alucard steps closer, till their chests are almost touching.

Trevor reaches up thread his fingers through Alucard’s hair again in a trance, getting a loose grip on the golden strands that slide smoothly through his fingers as Alucard leans into him, feels the dry cool press of lips on his neck, soft, before--

\-- _Oh_.

“Fuck,” he gasps out, feeling teeth sink in deeper as his throat moves around the curse. Time slips sideways, goes blurry, and Trevor feels himself shudder. Alucard has one arm against the small of his back, a firm presence; the other is just barely touching Trevor’s chest, fingertips hovering over his collarbone. Trevor wants Alucard to press his long fingers into his skin, dig his nails into Trevor’s chest, his back, his thighs. He grasps at Alucard’s hair, fists the smooth fabric of his sweater, feels his knees go lax underneath him, eyes drifting shut.

Alucard drags his tongue across the puncture marks before sinking back in and Trevor moans, throat catching on the noise. He can hear his heartbeat thump under his skin, hears himself breathing raggedly, hears the soft sounds of fabric as they shift closer together, and betraying his family’s creed should be so much harder than this, feel more like a loss, less like a gain.

It feels right.

He realizes through the haze in his mind that his grip on Alucard’s hair has gone limp, and he gathers himself enough to tighten it again, the sharp movement jarring Alucard’s teeth from his skin; the vampire hisses and Trevor gasps.

It’s quiet-- suddenly, overwhelmingly-- while Trevor finds his way back to himself. Alucard is out of breath and panting warm into Trevor’s neck and Trevor watches distantly as he pulls as far away as he can against Trevor’s hand tangled in his hair. His eyes meet Trevor’s, warm and amber, and he smiles slowly, lazily-- satisfaction painted clear as the morning against the night sky. He wipes the back of his hand across his lips, smearing the blood. Trevor’s blood. Glossy.

And fuck, just like that, Trevor realizes he’s hard.

“Jesus,” he chokes out, voice scraping raw in his throat, hand releasing Alucard’s hair in a sweep of gold. He falls back a few feet and stares at Trevor, head cocked to the side, watching.

The moment folds out between them; Trevor feels his right hand flexing open and closed by his side, and he reaches the other up to his neck. His fingers slide over the wetness he finds there, but there’s no pain. Alucard’s eyes drift from Trevor’s neck to his hand, his eyes, back to his neck.

“Shit, vampire.” Trevor hears himself through several layers of the moment. He wants to wipe the blood from Alucard’s lips. With his tongue.

“Are you alright, Trevor?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I--”

“--Doesn’t hurt,” Trevor says quickly, too quickly, and Alucard’s gaze goes wide.

“You...liked that.” It’s not a question, and Trevor can’t do anything but feel his heartbeat, feel the dull throb of the side of his neck.

“Yeah,” he says, because there’s no point in denying it anymore when he’s sailing straight down to hell anyway, his pearly gated salvation clanging shut for good the moment he looked at Alucard and saw friend instead of foe. Covered in the marks from Alucard’s teeth, gasping out for more, more.

“Oh,” Alucard breathes, wonderingly. “Oh. I, uh--”

And Trevor doesn’t have time to fully appreciate the sight of Adrian Tepes, son of Dracula and scourge of Hell’s Army, at a loss for a witty comeback before he’s being kissed firmly. Chastely, except for the lingering blood. Slow heat trickles down Trevor’s spine before Alucard breaks away with a small sound. “Is this alright?”

“Yeah,” Trevor says again, his thoughts shuffling together in a bunch. The House of Belmont, buried deep if not for long, home lined with trophies cut from the corpses of monsters and burned to dust along with their legacy. Trevor’s legacy. The church and the military, ever dogging his footsteps and watching in the windows of his life. Sypha, sharp like the corner of her smile and encouraging him that yes, it’s okay, it’s okay to get something for once without fighting for it, without wringing himself out entirely for just a taste. And Dracula, a faceless presence at the center of the maze he made of Wallachia, looming over them all until he’s swallowed the whole of them.

And above all Alucard, the weight of his hand like a brand on Trevor’s shoulder. Hesitant, like he’s just as lost in this as Trevor, moments after sinking his fangs in deep.

Trevor exhales and lets it fade away until all that’s left is Alucard standing in front of him, still and waiting. He’s striking, caught in the warm light of the room, surrounded by the ordinary objects of his life, and Trevor wants him like he wants a hot meal at the end of a long day. Comfortable, but no less desired because of that.

Sypha was right; he’s got it bad. At least he’s not alone in it.

“You’ve got some--” Trevor mimes wiping his lips. “--Some, yeah.”

Alucard moves to clean it off and then stops himself, tilts his head a little and smiles at Trevor, different from the usual smirk. Fonder. “I don’t think it bothers you, Belmont.”

“Could you please stop being insufferable and get over here,” Trevor says, patience finally losing out to his wanting as he tugs Alucard down by the collar, tasting the bright copper on his lips. Alucard inhales sharply and Trevor uses the opportunity to lick into his mouth, scrapes his teeth against that bottom lip. The tension leaves Alucard’s shoulders in one rush and he melts into Trevor, letting him get a hand back into that ridiculous golden hair, pressing forward when Trevor slides his palm over his lower back. His hands on Trevor’s hips are cool where the skin is bared, firm and grounding; it might just be the nicest thing Trevor’s felt in a good long while, and wants more, wants to--

Trevor pushes the edge of the hoodie up, up, running his hands up Alucard’s back. All of a sudden Trevor needs to see more, as much as he can. He tugs the sweater up with his hands, Alucard shifting to allow him, and he drags the backs of his nails down Alucard’s chest, admiring the way the taught skin flushes as it warms and marks up. Pretty.

His cuts from before have finally healed, Trevor notes absently before he leans down to mouth at his nipples, feels them harden under his tongue and teeth. Alucard pushes into his touch, making a soft, appreciative noise, and Trevor is tangentially aware of the soft sound of the cloth hitting the floor as Alucard shifts to pull off his sweater entirely. A hand cups Trevor’s jaw to lift him up for a scorching kiss and another grasps at his belt, tickling the sensitive skin of his waist.

Alucard shifts off him suddenly, tugging Trevor back by the arm, getting some distance between them before sweeping his eyes over his form. He’s breathing heavily, and his eyes flick up Trevor’s body like he’s a puzzle that needs solving, like he needs to be traversed with a goddamn map and plan, like he’s battlefield, and hell-- the fact that that look makes something clench within Trevor’s insides probably speaks to some crossed wires in his head, but Trevor can’t find it in himself to give a single, solitary fuck.

He smiles facetiously, flippantly, through the lump forming in his throat. “Like what you see?”

Alucard rolls his eyes and shoves Trevor’s shirt up with his free hand, thumbing at a nipple, making Trevor hiss sharply and shiver into the cool touch. Experimentally, he tries to jerk his arm from Alucard’s grasp-- no give, of-fucking-course-- and Alucard watches him closely as Trevor tugs again, glaring. “Come on, you absolute asshole--”

Alucard digs his nail into the soft skin by Trevor’s nipple and Trevor gasps, jerking forward, his sudden weight knocking them closer to the bed. The corner of Alucard’s mouth curves up, flashing his canines, and he pinches again as he kisses Trevor slow and dirty, hand finally releasing his arm and trailing cool down Trevor’s spine to grip his ass.

Never above using a distraction to his advantage, Trevor grinds forward, catching a foot behind Alucard’s knee and shoving him hard over and backward to thump onto the bed.

Alucard with the breath knocked out of him is a striking sight, hair half in his face and mouth parted and panting, and Trevor takes a second to take it all in, appreciate. He tilts his head, as Alucard did before, taking his own stock of the pale skin stretching out before him.

“Well, I guess I don’t have to ask how you like it,” Alucard drawls, and Trevor snorts and retaliates by crawling up the bed to press his knee purposefully between Alucard’s thighs, eliciting a cut-off moan. He runs his hands down the planes of Alucard’s stomach, sides; it's all cool to the touch, and Trevor doesn’t know if Alucard runs hot at all, if he just gets colder the more worked up he gets.

He wants to find out.

“Oh? Enjoying your fact-finding mission?” He tugs his shirt off and flows up with the motion, smooth. Putting on a show, because he can and because he wants to. He places a hand carefully on the place where Alucard’s jeans meet his skin, and he can feel the skin underneath him tense, feel the edge of the hipbone through his jeans.

“Yes,” Alucard replies, curving up into Trevor’s weight above him, throwing his head back and rolling his hips experimentally into Trevor’s thigh. Fuck. Trevor grunts, falling into his rhythm and bracing himself more firmly on the bed. “About as much as you did, it seems.”

Their bodies are pressed together and with every shift, Trevor can feel how hard Alucard is against his thigh, how much he wants this himself-- when he grinds down, it sparks perfection all the way down to the details. Alucard’s eyes flick shut for a moment on the sharp little inhale Trevor makes, and he pushes Trevor’s legs wide and guides them over his thighs, reaching up to tug Trevor down to kiss him breathless.

When Alucard pulls away, it’s with a small, hungry sound, and he’s smirking, self-satisfied.

“What?” Trevor says, out of breath, and Alucard shifts his thighs outwards a bit more, until Trevor realizes he’s lost most of his leverage and all of his friction, caught bracing himself on Alucard’s shoulder and sternum, hands like ice moving to his hips. He gasps, frustrated, and Alucard moves a hand to unbuckle Trevor’s jeans one-handed, the other holding him still, and Alucard shoves his pants down enough to press his palm to Trevor’s cock. Trevor grits his teeth and moans, muscles clenching, and he arches into the pressure as much as he can. It’s not enough, and he huffs out a breath-- loud, frustrated.

“Look at you.” Alucard’s voice is rough, and it curls its way through Trevor. “A mess already.” His grip tightens on Trevor’s hip, running a hand lightly over his cock, and he’s watching, watching.

And oh, Trevor wants him badly. Something’s been let loose that's been sleeping too long under his skin, hot and coiled like a lit fuse. Alucard scrapes against his flint like steel, and he has no choice but to spark up.

“Please,” Trevor says, and Alucard’s eyes darken.

There's a light pressure on his throat, and Alucard’s thumb drifts over the marks of his bite before pressing firmly, pushing past the lingering dull ache and lighting up the nerves with a jolt. “If you knew all the things I’ve wanted to do with you,” Alucard remarks, voice unsteady. Warmth spreads through Trevor’s body from the points where they’re connected, neck and hips and thighs and all down their legs, and Trevor shivers as his mouth falls open on a gasp, legs sliding wider around Alucard's, pressing himself into Alucard’s hand.

Alucard is looking at him like the only thing holding him back is the tips of Trevor’s fingers on his chest, like he’s still hungry, like he wants to crack Trevor open and lick inside-- and god, Trevor wants him to.

“What are you fucking waiting for,” he bites out, suddenly desperate, voice cracking on the last syllable and grinding down as much as he can with the hand holding fast to his hip.

Trevor can barely feel the sharp bite of Alucard’s nails scraping over the marks on his neck as he leans up to kiss along the line of Trevor’s jaw and finally, finally drops his hands to let Trevor get closer. Teeth scrape the underside of his throat, a mimicry, and Trevor feels his whole body shudder as he settles into Alucard’s lap at last, letting him take his weight. Gets a hand under Alucard’s chin and tips his head up to kiss him, kiss him. He reaches down to unbutton Alucard’s pants and his hands are shaking with the need to touch, feel, _anything--_

A cool hand stops him before he can do much more than get a good grip, and Trevor breaks away from the kiss with a frustrated gasp, indignation rising.

Before he can speak, Alucard’s fingers trace his lips, catching on the bottom one. “Lick.” And Alucard presses in and the blood rushes in Trevor’s ears as he lets him, getting the fingers wet with his tongue, licking up the palm of his hand. Obscene.

He closes his eyes when the fingers slip from his mouth with a slight, wet sound, and Alucard’s hand wraps around both of their cocks, and Alucard murmurs a curse into Trevor’s neck, and it’s all Trevor can do to stop himself from coming far too early, wound up and wanting. Alucard kisses him again, and Trevor lets himself fall past the last barrier of propriety he’d been clinging to.

It’s just Alucard. And Alucard is safe.

Trevor can hear Alucard’s small inhale as he relaxes, and on the next breath it feels like Alucard is everywhere on him, overwhelming his senses, hands and mouth and thighs and chest, and Trevor presses as close as he can get, gasping out blasphemes as Alucard moves their cocks against one another, the sensation just the right side of fast. “ _Jesus,_ ” he pants into the soft skin of Alucard’s throat, followed by a broken “ _just like that--_ ” and his voice cracks on the “ _please, yes, Alucard;_ please--”

Trevor folds into Alucard when he comes, forehead resting on his shoulder and arm curled tight around his back, nails digging into his own palm. He shakes through it as Alucard strokes them, gasping hot in Trevor’s ear, and Trevor’s mouth finds the thick muscle of his shoulder and he bites down for the last shuddering moments of it, oversensitive, wanting to make it last, wanting to make Alucard come just as hard as he had.

“C’mon,” he pants into Alucard’s collarbone when he can form words again, tilting his head to breathe heat against Alucard’s neck and pushing the hand away to wrap his own around Alucard’s cock, stroking firmly, sucking a dark mark into the thin skin of Alucard’s collarbone, where Alucard had marked him.

Alucard tenses in Trevor’s arms, cursing, and he comes between them at last, reaching up to wrap his arms around Trevor and kiss him again, messily, slower than before. There’s a pleasant, low buzz running its way down Trevor’s body, and he hums along with it into Alucard’s mouth, long moments slipping away, barely marked.

Alucard’s hands are gentle as he edges Trevor off of his lap as if he weighs nothing at all, and Trevor stretches out into the soft expanse of pillows with a groan.

He can hear Alucard move, feels a soft cloth wipe him down, feels the mattress shift as Alucard settles back against the headboard with a hand against Trevor’s lower back. The silence stretches, but it’s comfortable as it hangs in the air between them.

Alucard breaks it. “Are you alright?”

Trevor chuckles into the pillow. “That’s a dangerous question--look where we ended up the first time you asked.”

Alucard hums, amused. “I’d still like your answer, though. I don’t think I took much more than a mouthful from your throat, but I was...distracted.”

Trevor rolls across the covers, letting his side brush against Alucard. “I’m good,” he says, because it’s true.

“Good,” Alucard echoes, and there’s a weighted pause. “I haven’t...done that, before.”

Trevor turns over and looks at him. “What, sex?”

Alucard’s eyes go wide and horrified. “No! No. Not at all--” He runs and hand through his hair, and it’s more endearing than it has any right to be.

Laughter bursts out of Trevor, and Alucard stops mid-sentence, glaring at him. “You’re an asshole, Belmont.”

“Eh, takes one to know one.” Trevor feels warm all over, floating comfortable, and he stretches out obscenely before dropping half onto Alucard, head resting on a cool shoulder and hand lifting up to run lazily through tangled golden hair. It feels nice, to bask in Alucard’s attention; that mellow sense of belonging.

Alucard shifts to accommodate him, and his hand trails from Trevor’s shoulder to his neck. He stills, for a moment, tensing under Trevor’s weight, before tracing small, ticklish circles over where he had bitten in. “There’s a whole system for purchasing blood. Well--” His fingers still momentarily on Trevor’s neck before resuming their slow circles. “There _was_ a whole system. It was all very above board-- reputable, untraceable. More than adequate for the purposes of vampires and others across Europe. My purposes.”

Trevor hums softly, fighting down the automatic impulse to file away this particular insight into vampire behavior, parse it out for weaknesses to exploit. He makes himself focus on the hard line of Alucard’s hip where it digs into his side and lets him continue.

“It was very well conceived, but I always found it--” A deep inhale. “--Sterile. I was more affected than I would have imagined, knowing that you--”

“--I liked it,” Trevor cuts in, looking away from Alucard but curling further into his cool weight. There’s something caught in his chest again and it forces the words out of him in a jumble, honest. “I liked it because it was you.”

“Oh,” Alucard breathes, and Trevor hefts himself up to curve over Alucard, chest to chest, eye to eye. Alucard is smiling at him, and Trevor’s not ready for the implications of the way that makes him feel, the way it makes his whole body thrum.

So he smirks at Alucard, places a hand on his chest. “So you’re saying I was your first?”

Alucard shoves him over at that, and Trevor catches himself on a hand before he can tumble off the bed, laughing. Alucard’s smile turns as sharp as the rest of him, still as blinding as before but with a wry turn to the corner of it. “Once an asshole, always an asshole, Belmont.”

“Who me? Never.”

“Oh, certainly,” Alucard says. “You’ll have plenty of time to prove me right next time.” Trevor scoffs and settles down, and it’s a matter of moments before he’s drifting, asleep, listening to the lull of Alucard’s breathing.

* * *

 

Trevor opens his eyes into darkness, heavy and thick in the room like a physical presence. He feels around in the bed, tangled in blankets, groping for his phone as the usual waking panic sets in. How many alerts have gone off, how many towns have succumbed while he slept, unaware, where was Dracula’s castle-- who, what, where?

He feels the hard edge of the phone, and the brightness blinds him momentarily as he taps it on. Blank screen. No notifications. The panic drains from his frame and he groans, rolling upright, and remembers--

His arm, his neck. Teeth sinking in deep, and firm, possessive hands all down his body, bringing him off, bringing him somewhere closer to...something. Something good.

Alucard must have woken earlier, and Trevor tries not to feel disappointed. He wants to know what Alucard looks like curled up in a real bed, sated and sleeping. Trevor fingers his neck carefully; he wants to know what Alucard looks like in so many, many ways. If they’d survive that long. Circumstances were a bitch.

Trevor sighs into the empty room. _Something nice for himself_ \-- that was what Sypha had said, all those weeks ago in the garden. He could just about handle something nice right then, now that it's been offered to him.

He gets up and walks to the window to pull the curtains. The barest sliver of orange-red lines the horizon outside.

Dusk. High time to get busy.

He pulls on his shirt from earlier, still heaped on the floor, and traipses downstairs. Sypha is sitting in the formal living room, tapping away on her laptop with a dozen stacks of paper fanned out around her. Maps.

“All quiet on the horizon?”

She looks up from her laptop and smiles. “Hey, sleeping beauty. Quiet so far. Could be they had to take a break after last night’s attack to rebuild some of their forces. The scanners are all set to alert us if there’s anything, though.”

“Belmont.” Alucard sticks his head out of the kitchen, and something inside Trevor gives a delightful little twist at the sight. "Food, in a moment.”

“Oh! Uh, great.” Trevor says, startled, and he could kick himself.

Alucard ducks back into the kitchen and Sypha throws Trevor a meaningful look. He must make some expression because Sypha snorts and treats him to an exaggerated wink. He waves her off and sits down across from her.

“Alucard offered to cook something now that we appear to have a minute to relax. Breakfast for dinner-- wait, no. Would it be dinner, because it’s the evening, even though we just woke up? Breakfast for our breakfast….time?” Sypha frowns and shrugs. “Close enough. There should be pancakes, regardless.”

“Crepes, actually.” Alucard sweeps out of the kitchen with a tray. “I ran out of buttermilk for pancakes.”

“Oh, the horror of not stocking your apocalypse pantry with enough buttermilk,” Trevor says on impulse, before he can think. Alucard sets the tray down in front of him, sitting down, and his eyes meet Trevor’s. Heat spreads across his face, unwillingly.

“I like crepes better, anyway,” Sypha says, ignoring them in favor of shuffling her papers into stacks. “Now. To business.” She takes a sip of her coffee before fixing them both with an even stare. “I presume you’ve fucked the animosity out of your systems, so that should make this plan much easier to pull off.”

Alucard almost chokes on his coffee, and Trevor buries his head in his hands with a groan. “Jesus, Sypha.”

“Get over it,” she says, rapping him sharply on the head with a rolled-up stack of papers, shoving them in his face with he lifts his head. “You’re neither subtle nor quiet, Belmont, and that goes double for Alucard.”

Alucard settles back in his chair and quirks the side of his mouth up. His eyes meet Trevor’s, and Trevor refuses to blush, refuses to back down from this like he oh so wants to. He’s in this, all of this, for better or worse, life or probable death, and _this_ of all things is not going to bring him to his knees. Metaphorically.

He grins easily at Sypha, at Alucard. “Okay, I’ll concede that I’m loud, but Alucard’s the one with all the subtlety of a freight train off the tracks.”

Alucard’s brows shoot up. “Oh it’s like that, is it, Belmont? I’ll have you know--”

Sypha blows a sudden, sharp gust of wind over the room, scattering some of the loose papers and stunning them into silence. “Okay, settle down boys: there’s plenty of time to make eyes at each other later.” Trevor frowns, and Alucard takes a careful sip of his coffee, starting to open his mouth.

Sypha shoves a stack of papers at him and throws up her hands. “Quiet. Listen. I’ve got a plan, and, not to brag, it’s pretty brilliant. You see-- She unfurls a map and immediately starts pointing out starred areas with her fork, dripping syrup onto the table, and Trevor takes a bite of his crepe and settles in to listen.

A soldier, and hunter, and a scholar. They just might make it work after all.

  


**Author's Note:**

> The working summary of this was: "Alucard is thirsty, Trevor is _thirsty_ , and Sypha is far too busy killing demons for this nonsense."


End file.
